A Picture is Worth
by chill13
Summary: An old photograph and a small world.  Who would have believed?
1. Chapter 1

"I know it's around here somewhere." Gilligan mumbled to himself as he opened the weaved-palm and bamboo cupboard and peeked inside. He quickly closed it again. "Not in there." He moved over to the far corner of the hut to the conglomeration of wooden planks that passed for a closet and swept the curtain aside. "Maybe it's in here. Why does Mary Ann have to keep organizing things?" The closet was stacked about chest high with boxes and crates, some filled with Gilligan's collections, others with tools or supplies. On top sat the Skipper's old sea chest.

"What are you looking for?"

Gilligan jumped at the unexpected voice from behind him. He whirled around, a hand on his thudding chest. "Oh, it's you, Skipper. You scared me."

"Of, course it's me." The Skipper huffed, feigning indignance. "Who'd you think it was?"

Gilligan shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Bigfoot?"

"Very funny."

"Oh, here it is!" Gilligan bent down where the mouth of his canvas duffle bag peeked out from beneath the pile of supplies. Before the Skipper could stop him he grabbed the nylon pull-strings and gave them a hard yank. The bag popped out and half a second later a cascade of boxes tumbled from the closet. The Skipper's sea chest hit the ground with a heavy 'thunk' at their feet, popping the lid open and spilling it's contents all over the sandy floor.

"Whoops." Gilligan said with a nervous laugh.

"Gilligan!"

The first mate dropped to his knees and quickly righted the old box. "Don't worry, Skipper. I'll pick it up."

"Never mind!" The Skipper bellowed as he bent and began stuffing things back into the container.

"It's okay. I've got it." Gilligan insisted as he plucked a handful of papers off the floor. There were a couple envelopes and the Skipper's little black book. He began to put them back into the box when a piece of paper slipped from the pile and fluttered to the ground. "Hey, what's this?" He lifted the old, faded photograph from the sand and brought it close. "Is this you?" Gilligan stared in disbelief. The Skipper's smile was unmistakable. He stood on a grassy lawn in front of a quaint little house. Only one stripe adorned his white Navy uniform. He wasn't looking at the camera but at the tiny dark-haired baby he cradled in his arms. "I didn't know you were ever that skinny." Gilligan teased.

"Give me that!" The Skipper snatched the picture away so quickly it gave Gilligan a paper cut.

The first mate brought his finger up to examine the injury, then decided it wasn't worth his attention. "I didn't know you like babies, Skipper. Is he your nephew or somethin'?"

"None of your business!" The Skipper shouted, slamming the sea chest closed as he got to his feet.

Gilligan flinched at the unexpected outburst. Generally the Skipper loved relating stories about his past, always with exaggerated descriptions of his own heroism. The young man had expected a story, not an explosion. He scrambled to his feet in confusion. "Sorry, Skipper. I didn't mean—"

"Beat it Gilligan!"

"B-but…"

"Get out of here!" Gilligan stumbled backwards, blown over by the Skipper's anger. With every word the big man's face turned another shade of red and his voice rose several decibels. "Check the lobster traps or something. Just get out! That's an _ORDER!_" The last word thundered across the island as the Skipper thrust a violent finger toward the door.

Gilligan's heart pounded as he scrambled back, wondering what he possibly could have done. The intensity of the Skipper's fury made him seem several times as large as he actually was and at that moment Gilligan was sure that if he didn't get out of his way he would be in pain very soon. His feet kicked up sand as he tried to run backward, not having the presence of mind to actually turn around. A wrong step and an errant shoelace sent him tumbling to the ground. The next second he sprung up and bolted for the door.

The Skipper glared at the open door, knuckles clenched white and jaw muscles pulsing. He stood like that for a long moment until something inside gave way. His broad shoulders sagged as he let out a huge breath. He fell into the nearest chair, resting both elbows on the table. A lump swelled in his throat as he gazed at the faded picture. Tears rimmed his eyes as a finger caressed the image of the smiling, dark-haired child he had held in his arms so very long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilligan flew out of the hut as if he had been shot out of a cannon. He held onto his hat as he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see the Skipper charging after him. Realizing he wasn't being pursued he slowed to a stop near the edge of the clearing. Leaning against the nearest palm he stared back the way he had come, filled with bewilderment.

"What happened?" Mary Ann came up to him looking concerned. She had no doubt heard the Skipper's outburst. Gilligan suspected even the natives on neighboring islands had heard it.

He stared straight ahead, still breathing hard. "That's what I want to know. I just picked up a picture and he exploded! I thought he was gonna have me keel hauled right there."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and touched his shoulder. "Don't worry, Gilligan. He never stays mad for long."

He shook his head. "I've never seen him like that before. He wasn't just mad, he was upset!"

The young woman frowned in the direction of the sailors' hut. She loved the Skipper like a doting uncle but sometimes the way he treated Gilligan really annoyed her. "Maybe you'd better stay out of his way for awhile. Let him cool off."

Gilligan nodded in agreement. "He's hotter than Tabasco sauce right now."

"You can help me with lunch if you want."

"Thanks." He gave her a small smile. "But I think I'll just go for a walk. I need to think and sometimes it's easier if I let my feet do it for me."

...

Gilligan wandered aimlessly through the jungle, his hands rarely straying from his pockets and his eyes always fixed somewhere beyond the tangle of vegetation that surrounded him. Every now and then he kicked at a fallen coconut but even that was half-hearted. He was buried so deep in his own thoughts that the world around him faded into a kind of green blur. He just couldn't stop thinking about that picture. The Skipper had looked so young and so happy holding that little baby. Why had he kept such a nice picture hidden for all these years? Why had it made his friend so upset?

Curiosity had him by the throat and was shaking him hard, and the fact that the Skipper was being so secretive only tightened the grip.

It was just less than an hour before Gilligan found himself back at camp again. It was sooner than he had planned considering just how angry the Skipper seemed to be with him. But that same curiosity guided his feet until he was peeking into the hut window. He hadn't really expected the Skipper to still be there but he was. The weathered sailor sat slouched at the table. His back was turned and his face buried in one large hand. Gilligan frowned at his friend's back. He didn't look angry, he thought. He looked sad.

Gilligan took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to crack the door open. Part of him was telling him to just leave and not chance being yelled at again. The other part could see that something was wrong with his friend and he just had to know what. "Skipper?" He asked quietly, peeking his head through the door.

The Skipper didn't move. "Go away, Gilligan." He didn't sound angry, just very tired.

Gilligan sighed and began to shut the door. Halfway he stopped, staring at the Skipper for a long moment as he chewed his lip thoughtfully. Then instead of leaving he stepped inside. He removed his hat respectfully and braced himself for another storm. "What's wrong?"

"Are you deaf?" The Skipper's words were bitter but not nearly as loud as they had been earlier. "I said 'go away'."

Gilligan took a step closer, becoming more determined by the moment to figure out just what was going on. "We're pals aren't we?" He paused for just a second but didn't wait for an answer. "And pals are always there for each other." He fidgeted with his hat, sure that any moment the Skipper was going to turn on him and order him away again. Nevertheless he persisted. "I know you're—"

"Please, Gilligan." Gilligan could hear the Skipper's voice catch as he spoke and it made his stomach tighten. "I just want to be alone."

He couldn't leave. Not when his best friend was so down. He quietly moved to the table and sat across from his captain. "Skipper…" He asked gently, glancing at the photograph that started the whole thing. "Who's the baby in the picture?"

The Skipper didn't acknowledge the question. In fact he hadn't even looked at Gilligan once since he had entered the room. He just stared at the little paper as if it were the only thing in the world. Gilligan was about to give up when the answer finally came. One loan tear slipped down the old sailor's face as he spoke in a whisper. "My son."

Gilligan didn't know what shocked him more, that his best friend had a son that he didn't know about or that his captain was crying. The Skipper never cried. He was too tough, to brave, to strong for that. And yet Gilligan couldn't deny the liquid glistening in the old sailor's eyes.

"You have a son?" He blurted, staring at the picture on the table with renewed interest. "You never told me have a son!"

The Skipper sighed deeply and brushed a hand across his cheek trying to hide another tear that had managed to escape. "It was a long time ago."

"Gee, Skipper no wonder you want to get home so bad. I just left parents behind. You got a baby to get back to."

The Skipper looked up at Gilligan for the first time, a tiny hint of annoyance showing through the veil of depression. "Gilligan, this picture was taken in nineteen forty-two."

Gilligan cocked his head to one side for a second, not quite sure what the look the Skipper had given him meant. Then it dawned on him. "Oh. I guess he would be all grown up now, then, huh?"

The Skipper nodded. "He would have been twenty-four this spring."

Gilligan grinned. "Hey, me too!" His face quickly fell as he realized exactly what the Skipper had said. "What do you mean 'would have been'?" Saying it aloud brought the full meaning to the surface and the weight of it hit him like a blow to the stomach. "Oh, Skipper! What happened?"

The Skipper stared at the picture a moment more before holding it out to his first mate. Gilligan hesitated just a moment, remembering what had happened last time he touched that picture. But this time the Skipper was giving it to him. He held his breath, reverently accepted the old photograph, cradling it in his hand as if it were made of glass.

"My wife took that picture."

"Wife?" Gilligan's jaw dropped. "You have a wife too?" The second it was out of his mouth he knew it was a stupid question. Of course he had a wife. You had to have a wife before you had a kid. He looked sheepishly down and waited for the Skipper to continue.

"Yes, Gilligan. I had a wife." He cocked an eyebrow at his young friend before quickly reverting into reverie. "She was so young and beautiful." His big chest heaved as he sighed. "Too young. We both were really. She wasn't much older than Mary Ann when she took that picture." Even though Gilligan's hand covered the penciled date the Skipper recited it by heart. "August 12, 1942…the day the Navy shipped me off to the Solomon Islands. That was taken just before I left." He gave a small nod toward the picture. "Never saw either of them again."

Gilligan swallowed, his eyes widening with every word.

"Three years later, when the war was over, I came home…and they were gone." The Skipper stared at an empty spot over Gilligan's shoulder, remembering that fateful day. He had leapt off the truck and bounded through the gate. He had cleared all four porch steps in one spring. 'I'm home!' his voice boomed through the little country neighborhood as he threw open the front door. Only silence and an empty house had greeted him. "Charmin had just up and left and took him with her. There was no forwarding address, no Dear John letter. Nothing."

"Oh, Skipper. That's terrible!" Gilligan exclaimed, overcome with shock and sympathy for his friend. A thought struck him and a bit of confusion worked its way into the mix. "But your name's not John. Wouldn't she write you a 'Dear _Jonas_' letter?"

The Skipper didn't even hear the question. "I looked everywhere for them. But…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"But why would she do that?" Gilligan asked, unable to comprehend how a family could break up like that.

The big man sighed, removed his hat and ran a big hand through his silver hair, trying to pull himself together. He finally looked up at Gilligan and sighed. "I don't know, Gilligan. I don't know." A moment later he cleared his throat, trying to regain a modicum of dignity before his first mate. "It's just one of those storms that hits you hard and forces you to change course."

Gilligan just stared, not sure of what to say. After a moment he frowned. "Her name was Charmin? Is that how come you bought the Minnow instead of that nice big boat, even though they were the same price? Because it was called Charmin?"

"The Minnow was a sturdy little ship." The Skipper insisted but Gilligan knew he was right.

"Not all Charmins are bad, Skipper." Gilligan said. "I met a Charmin once that was really nice. It was kind of weird how I met her but she was still really nice."

"Mmm." The Skipper said, noncommittally as he stood up, moved to the closet and began restacking boxes, rather glad that Gilligan had stopped asking him questions. Generally he would have made Gilligan clean things up. After all it was his mess. But it was just something to do to keep busy.

"Kinda felt like I'd met her before." The young man's brow creased ever-so-slightly as he remembered. "She just showed up one day and asked to see me." Now that he looked back on it it really was an odd event in his life. Not as odd as getting shipwrecked, or turning into a radio, or being invisible. Not even as odd as being glued to the side of a boat. But it was still pretty unusual. "I was just ten."

It's true he had only been ten. But he remembered it like it was yesterday. "I was on the roof when she pulled up into the driveway."

"You were on the roof?" The Skipper asked incredulously. Usually Gilligan's rambling annoyed him but at the moment he was trying desperately to get his mind on something else and Gilligan's story seemed like as good a thing as any.

"Yeah. I was hiding."

"From who?"

"My brother. I kinda, accidentally spilled my ant farm on his bed. I figured he couldn't kill me if he couldn't find me. Anyway, I was up there when she drove up." He had watched her walk up to the porch, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. She stood there a long time just staring at the front door and Gilligan had wondered what was so interesting about it. Finally she knocked. "I don't think my parents were very happy to see her." Gilligan said, remembering that his mother's first words when she opened the door weren't the usual 'hello, come in' but: "Charmin, what are you doing here?"

She didn't answer right away. Gilligan thought she sounded nervous. "I…it's nice to see you again."

His mother didn't answer.

The woman shifted from one foot to the other, before glancing over to the neighbor's house. "They painted it. When I lived there it was blue."

"Not long after they moved in. Why are you here?" Gilligan had never heard his mother be so blunt with someone.

"I just want to see him."

"After all these years?" He had heard his father say. "Just like that?"

The woman nodded. "Please."

"He won't know who you are." His mother had said.

"You mean you haven't told him?"

Gilligan frowned a little. "Mom said she hadn't told me because I was too sensitive." His frown deepened. "She never did tell me what she didn't tell me. One of these days when we get rescued I'm gonna ask her if she will." He looked up at the Skipper. "I'm not too sensitive, am I?"

Gilligan didn't wait for an answer before continuing his story. "Anyway, they said she could come in if she didn't tell me what they didn't tell me too."

"He doesn't need to know." His mother had said just before she let the lady in. Seconds later his father hollered for him to come downstairs.

Gilligan had quickly slipped in the window, figuring with his parents and a stranger around he was safe from any dirty thing his brother might do to him. He reached the top of the stairs and the woman looked up.

"William." His mother said. "This is Charmin."

"Hi." He had said just before stepping on a shoelace and tumbling down the stairs. He had landed smack into the woman's arms.

"Are you okay?" She asked, sounding extremely worried.

"I'm fine." He smiled at her, not used to such concern. After all, he fell down the stairs all the time.

"Then she asked if she could talk to me alone for awhile. I don't know why." Gilligan shrugged a little. "I mean I'm nobody special."

His mother had looked worried. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Just for a minute. _Please_."

"A little while isn't going to hurt." His father took his mother by the arm and led her outside.

Gilligan had been very confused and somewhat nervous, considering his parents reaction to this woman. But as she smiled at him with tears in her eyes something told him to like her.

She bent down and put both hands on his shoulders. "You've grown so much."

Gilligan had smiled at that, and rose a bit on his toes. "Yeah, almost an inch since mom measured last time." He pointed to the kitchen where pencil marks adorned the doorframe.

"She said she hadn't seen me since I was a baby." Gilligan said, drawing invisible circles on the table with his finger. "That's probably why she seemed familiar."

"Herman grew too!" He had said, taking her hand and guiding her to the doorframe. He pointed to a mark in blue crayon, barely half a foot from the floor.

"Who's Herman?"

"My turtle."

Gilligan cocked his head a bit. "You know, Skipper, it didn't matter what I said to her, she acted like she wanted to hear it. She asked me what I liked in school, if I played sports, what I liked to watch on tv."

"…and Jake the barber is our coach." He had told her, somewhat surprised that she was still listening to him. "I like him better as a coach than a barber. He always gets those little hairs down the back of my shirt. Mom says I need to get another haircut tomorrow."

"I think she's right. "The woman smiled and brushed his dark hair out of his face and gently touched his cheek. "You have such beautiful blue eyes…just like your father."

"I don't know why she said that." Gilligan said, shaking his head. "My Dad's got brown eyes."

He had told her about all his friends at school and about his best friend, Skinny Mulligan.

"I'd like to meet him someday."

"You like kids, doncha?" He had asked. His teacher always told him that children should be seen and not heard, so at that point quite surprised that she was still letting him talk.

She nodded. "Yes, I do."

"You got any? Kids, I mean."

"I used to." Her voice cracked and she swallowed. "A wonderful little boy." She ran a hand through his hair again.

His young features had twisted in confusion. "Whacha mean 'used to'? Don't you got him no more?"

She shook her head and sniffed. "It's very hard to take care of a baby when you're all alone."

Gilligan nodded in agreement, bouncing his dark bangs back into his eyes. "I know. My last babysitter said it takes an army. So where is he now?"

"Some very nice people are taking care of him for me. He's happy, that's what's important."

Gilligan chewed at his bottom lip as he stared at the grass hut wall. "Anyway, it wasn't too long before Mom and Dad came back in."

"I have to leave now." The woman had said. To Gilligan's surprise she pulled him close to her. At first he didn't know what to do. But she seemed really upset so he hugged back. After a long moment she pulled away. Trails of tears ran down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I'm so glad I got to meet you Willy." She squeezed his hand and left.

"I don't know who she was." Gilligan said. "But I'll never forget her."

There was a 'klunk' as the Skipper set the last of the boxes in the closet. The sound brought Gilligan out of his memories. He glanced down at the picture he still held in his hand. Father and son frozen in time, both happy, the smiles on their faces never wavering. It was a piece of his friend's life. He stood and handed it back. "Don't forget this."

The weathered sailor took it gently, staring down at the image with a melancholy that plucked at Gilligan's heart.

"You loved him a lot. Didn't you?"

The Skipper's face looked as if the young man had just punched him in the gut. He carefully set the picture back into the old, warn sea chest and latched the lid. "Gilligan, I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

Gilligan nodded and kicked at the sand. "Um…you wanna go fishing? I mean catching a big ol' fish is sure to get your mind off…well…everything."

"That's a good idea." The Skipper grabbed a pair of fishing poles in the corner of the hut. He handed one to Gilligan and the two men headed off toward the lagoon.

"You know, Skipper?" Gilligan said as they walked side by side. "I'm sure your son out there somewhere. He's got to be. I bet you'll meet him someday."

Patches of yellow sunlight peeked through the green canopy, glinting off their fishing rods as a warm tropical breeze whispered around them.

The Skipper managed a sad smile and set a large hand on Gilligan's shoulder. "Maybe."

_Fin_


End file.
